


Christine Canigula, Ghost Hunter

by atlas_oulast



Series: Be More Quarantine Fics [2]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Background Relationships, Childhood Trauma, Developing Friendships, Established Relationship, F/M, Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, Homophobia, Lore - Freeform, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Romantic Relationships Not Main Focus, ghost lore, light gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23390653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlas_oulast/pseuds/atlas_oulast
Summary: Christine thought it was a dream.After all, it was ludicrous that a ghost named Patricia haunted her new house and had talked to Christine on moving day, and never talked to her again.For the Be More Quarantine Challenge
Relationships: Brooke Lohst/Thalia McCarthy, Christine Canigula & Thalia McCarthy, Christine Canigula/Jeremy Heere, Jeremy Heere & Michael Mell, Jeremy Heere & Thalia McCarthy
Series: Be More Quarantine Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1682470
Kudos: 3





	Christine Canigula, Ghost Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> aGain, submitting my fic in the nick of time.... i stg tho i had 5k written on saturday and every time i sat down to write on s o m e o n e distracted me.
> 
> tws for homophobia, child abuse, trauma, mentions of murder, basically attempted murder, and of course ghosts.
> 
> for the sake of my soul tmrw morning... i used all 6 prompts, i hit plasma, and i used 2 previous prompts so fuckin hail moi

It all started in a basement, as most things involving this sort of stuff do.

Basements are creepy, often dark, often covered in spiderwebs.

Christine was thirteen, and her family had just moved to Red Bank, New Jersey from Hendersonville, Maine. Well, her parents had gotten a divorce, so it was just her, her older sister, her younger sister, and her mom.

They moved into a house on Newell Road, a house that had been built in 1898, but it had been renovated and an addition had been added in the late 40s, and then again in the 60s, and again just a couple of years ago, where they’d added a thousand square foot addition and modernised the interiors. It was old, but didn’t look old at all, it looked like a fairly new build.

Christine was carrying a few boxes down to the basement, jokingly commenting that she was starting the pile of crap that wouldn’t be touched ever in both the attic and the basement.

It was cool down there, bordering on chilly. The stone stairs were definitely cool to the touch on her bare feet.

She carried the box down the stairs, chose a cobweb covered corner, and set the box down in it. Thinking that was the end of it, mind already going to the next task, mentally already halfway up the stairs.

Until she turned around from the corner and came face to face with a bright, milky white figure, several feet off the ground and.... and glowing.

Christine felt her heart nearly stop beating, and she stared the figure down, expecting it to disappear, expecting it to move away, go away when she blinked or rubbed her eyes.

But it didn’t.

And Christine barely bothered to breathe as she held her ground.

Slowly, she began to make out... facial features. A soft, round jawline, small nose, two eyes... and with the slight colour change in the irises from the milky white of the rest of it, they were green eyes.

Soft curls fell from the figure’s head, curled tips falling below the chest. A nightgown was worn, and the feet were bare. Really, it was a short... mirage... it was just... floating, which made it appear... taller.

“You can see!” A voice exclaimed.

It had a haunting echo to it, the unmistakable sound of a little girl’s voice, but oddly decayed and distant.

And it could be no other than the figure, which Christine had to admit.... it...

It was a....

“I’m a ghost... and you’re alive... and you can see me!”

“....I don’t believe it,” Christine faintly whispered, goosebumps rising on her skin.

The figure-ghost? reached out and cupped Christine’s cheek, and then giggled and shrieked a cry of delight.

“You really are alive! It’s incredulous!” She cried.

“Who are you?” Christine asked.

“I’m Patricia. Patricia Jones, I live here. Well... I lived here before, anyway.”

“Before me?”

“No... well, yes, you haven’t lived here very long, have you? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I just moved in today, with my family.”

“Oh! Time moves differently as a ghost, I wouldn’t have known. So you’re not a Goranski?”

“No... was that the family that lived here before?”

“Yes... I didn’t ever see a girl with them, just the mom, the two boys, and a father... the father was cruel, he and his friends renovated the house. I don’t like the renovations... why do new people want to make houses bigger?”

“I don’t know... I like the house, but I don’t like that we had to leave our old home for it,” Christine confessed.

“I pretty much just stay in the areas that are original to the house... but I went up to the big bedroom one day because I heard a gunshot. Part of that room was where I died... the mom died in there.”

“Oh... oh. Is...”

“No, she didn’t ghost. She went straight up. She must’ve had a good soul. She was a good person.”

“And the boys and father moved out?”

“Yes... if you moved in then the boys and the father moved out, that’s what that means?”

“Well, I’d hope so.”

“Maybe then, the Newells are still in here somewhere. They were my favourite family. Besides mine.”

“How long have you been here?” Christine asked.

“I was born in 1889... my father bought this house almost new, a year old.”

“So when did you die?”

“I believe it was 1911,” Patricia answered, her sentence rising at the end like it was a question.

“You don’t know?”

“I mean... I think I know. But not exactly. I died three days after I turned twelve... I think. Time passes oddly.”

“Then you died in 1911... maybe 1910, depending on when your birthday is.”

“It’s in May.”

“Then you died in 1911... you’ve been dead for over a hundred years, did you know that?”

“I didn’t! What year is it?” Patricia asked, curious.

“It’s 2014... so you’ve been dead for a hundred and three years.”

“Gosh... that sure is a lot.”

“How many families have lived here?”

“My family, the Smiths. And then came the Kingsmen, and then the Oobers, the Newells, the Joneses, the Robertsons, the Richardsons, the Mays...”

Patricia went on to list twenty or so more families, an impressive list of those who had come before.

“Why can I see you?” Christine asked suddenly.

“I don’t know... nobody has ever been able to see me... except for the mother of the Goranski boys, right as she was dying. Oh! Her name was Eliza, I remember now. The same name as my sister.”

“Why are you a ghost?” Christine asked.

“I have almost always been one, I hardly remember life before it... simply my family. Elizabeth, Cassandra, and Annabelle were my sisters, Richard, George, John, James, and Harold. I was the youngest, the only one born in this house.”

“Are my sisters calling for me?”

“What are their names?”

“Leah and Renee... Leah is older, Renee is younger.”

“I hear voices calling... perhaps they are them. Shall I allow you out of my touch? Do you trust them?”

“Yes- wait.”

“A question?”

“Yes. How, Patricia, did you die?”

“Polio,” Patricia said simply, and removed her hand from Christine’s cheek - a hand Christine had forgotten was there.

She had been too transfixed by Patricia’s bright green eyes and long, curly red hair.

Christine woke up on the floor, Leah and Renee and her mother looking down at her, Leah taking her pulse.

“Next time we send you down with boxes, try not to faint,” her mother said, uncaring.”

“This house is haunted,” Christine breathed.

“I think you just had a weird dream,” Leah laughed.

Christine remembered Patricia vividly, and she did not want to think it was a dream, even if that was logical.

Unfortunately, Leah’s theory was supported further by the fact that Christine had never seen Patricia since.

________________

Oddly enough, the thing that caused Christine to remember that weird dream that she’d had when she was thirteen and passed out in the basement after carrying some boxes down on moving day, was the Squips.

But not even really the specific Squip incident itself... it was five months after, deep in rehearsals for the spring musical, Les Miserables, during a post-rehearsal philosophical debate with her boyfriend, Jeremy, about the Squips, that it came to mind.

“Huh... I just remembered something.”

“A line?” Jeremy, Red Bank’s local Javert, joked.

“No... but god, you’re gonna make me forget something, I don’t doubt it for a second,” Christine, who was playing Eponine, scolded, elbowing Jeremy in the ribs.

“Okay, what’d you remember?”

“This thing that happened when I was thirteen... we had just moved in and I was carrying boxes down to the basement, and then I passed out and had a weird dream... I was convinced I’d seen a ghost back then.”

“What was the dream?”

“I remember it so vividly now... a ghost was standing there when I turned around from setting down the boxes, we had a conversation as if we’d known each other for years, and then she said she was letting me go from her touch, that she died of polio, and then I woke up on the floor.”

“Maybe you did see a ghost,” Jeremy joked.

“For the longest time I was convinced I really had... but I doubt it. Ghosts don’t exist.”

“Then why does Javert appear in the finale?” Jeremy again joked.

“Musical logic, dipshit,” Christine laughed.

“I’m just saying... nobody has proven that ghosts don’t exist.. evidence suggests otherwise.”

“Patricia, the girl who was born in my house the year after it was built and died in 1911... she doesn’t exist.”

“Or maybe she dooooesss.... ooooooohhhh,” Jeremy said playfully.

Christine shook her head at him, grinning.

“Chris, I believe in a lot of conspiracy theories... ghosts are not one of them.”

“Yeah, you’re obsessed with conspiracies, more like.”

“Epstein didn’t kill himself, juuust saying.”

“Yes, and JFK was abducted by aliens.”

“There’s a lot of evidence for it!”

______________

Christine volunteered to drive Jeremy home, because Michael, a techie, had had to go home early and couldn’t come back for him. Besides, it was simpler if Christine just took him.

They piled into Leah’s Corolla, and Jenna, the show’s dance captain and ensemble member, asked if she could hop in too, because she was sore after rehearsing choreography over and over for three hours with a bunch of teenage boys who were bad at listening.

“The more the merrier!” Christine declared, and so into the backseat, Jenna climbed in, sitting behind Jeremy.

The drive home was pretty uneventful, nothing out of the ordinary on the same drive as always, since Jenna lived just two blocks down and one over from Jeremy, in the very same neighbourhood.

Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway, until Christine accelerated as normal at an intersection when the light turned green, and a car, which she would later learn was coincidentally also a Corolla, suddenly came careening out from the road, despite the red light on their side, while Christine was still in the middle of the intersecting road.

She barely had time to register that the car was there and was about to hit them, had a millisecond to scream.

The car was on Christine’s side and as such, it hit her the hardest, and the next thing she knew, she woke up in excruciating pain, body feeling twisted and contorted around her seatbelt and the airbag.

She didn’t open her eyes. It hurt too much.

“Christine. Christine! Come on, Christine, please be alive,” Jeremy pleaded frantically, reaching over and shaking Christine on the shoulder.

“Stop... it hurts,” Christine whispered.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Jeremy comforted, his voice shaking.

Emergency services soon arrived, prying Christine’s door open and pulling her out, and she opened her eyes in the sudden rush of light.

The EMTs laid her out on a stretcher and began rushing her to the ambulance, letting Christine see how badly dented the car was.

That was the last thing she saw before she succumbed back to unconsciousness.

______________

At the hospital, the doctors pronounced Christine to simply have a concussion, and that she was very lucky, because she had a lot of blunt force trauma all over her body and she had briefly stopped breathing on the way to the hospital.

Jeremy and Jenna were only bruised, and were released after just a few hours.

After a lengthy discussion where Christine assured them that she was fine, and a short conversation with her annoyed mother, she was alone in the hospital room.

She felt a cold breeze, oddly, and thought she saw a nurse in her room, but shook her head and went to sleep.

Her stay in the hospital was relatively short, and doctors discharged her two days later, advising her to be careful at rehearsals.

Rehearsals went off without a hitch, and this time Thalia, Jeremy’s best friend besides Jeremy, drove her home in her ugly green minivan she’d inherited from her mom.

Thalia was very, very pregnant, like eight months or something, and also played Fantine, but assured Mr. Reyes that she would probably give birth before opening night.

When Christine got home, she took a shower and retired to her room, considering taking a short nap before eating dinner and tackling homework.

She snuggled down under her blankets at any rate... it was oddly cold in the room, maybe someone had turned on the air conditioning too early.

That’s what she thought, at least, before she saw a milky white glowing light in her doorway.

And it morphed into a shape... a shape she remembered from the event that was supposed to be a dream.

Patricia, with her red hair and green eyes and white nightgown.

“You can see me again? You have that look humans get when they see ghosts.” Her voice was sing songy, haunting, distant, echoing despite being barely louder than a whisper.

“I do... you were supposed to be a dream.”

“You knew I wasn’t...”

“I guess I did... I’m sorry, Patricia,” Christine whispered.

Patricia again cupped Christine’s cheek.

“Does it make me pass out when you let go? Is that what happened last time?”

“No, I think it was the shock, last time. It shouldn’t do anything but allow you to see the colour of my hair and stuff...”

“But I could see it from the doorway.”

“Then you can truly see ghosts now!” Patricia said excitedly.

“I.. really?”

“I don’t know, but most people can’t see me very well until I touch them. So you can truly see ghosts!”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Well, I shall not have to hold you for you to see me... and perhaps you could put me to rest.”

“So, make you un-ghost?” Christine asked.

Patricia nodded. “Yes. I visited the library in this town once and found some books that told me how to do it... the problem is that it must be carried out by a human because I cannot grab anything much on my own.”

“Then how do I do it?” Christine almost regarded Patricia as an old friend, even if they had only spoken twice over a period of four years.

But Patricia explained the process simply: they would need to find an object of great significance and importance to her, and Christine would have to give it to her or maybe Patricia would have to try and haunt the object, she wasn’t quite sure.

The item of significance could be the thing that killed her or that she had died on, and Patricia suspected that some items from her time in the house might still remain in the attic.

“I don’t know... every family left something, you’ll leave something, and the family after you, until this house no longer is inhabited,” she said thoughtfully.

So Christine went to the attic door and pulled down the ladder, and the pair climbed and floated up the stairs.

While Christine dig carefully through the piles of crap piled all over the room, she struck up a conversation with Patricia.

“How much longer did your family live here after you died?”

Patricia thought for a minute as Christine moved aside a large painting of sailboats. “I think it was a good ten or twenty years after... all of my siblings left the house and it was only my mother and father for awhile, and my siblings started having their own families and bringing them back, and then Mother fell ill and she was old, and my older sister, Annabelle, she nursed Mother and held her as she died.”

“And you had to watch?” Christine asked, sending the pain in Patricia’s voice.

She was quiet for a long moment. “I want to see my family again... if there is a world beyond this, I will not find it by staying here and watching the families come and go. I will leave you my diaries, and you will have something compelling to read to remember me by. At least, I do hope it is compelling.”

“You were able to keep diaries?”

“Yes... I found a spell in a library book that let me enchant some notebooks and, somewhat haunt them, only a little bit... but they will be here long after I am gone, provided you take care of them. I have the diary I wrote while alive, and thirty more over my years of being a ghost.”

“So ghosts use magic?”

“A little bit, yes. Truthfully, aren’t we already magic? And isn’t putting me to rest magic in itself?”

An idea popped into Christine’s head. “Wait, then, perhaps your diary from when you were alive would be your object?”

Patricia shook her head. “I know in my heart that it would not be that. But I will go fetch my diaries while you continue looking.”

Patricia floated through the walls, leaving Christine alone to sift through the piles of junk, left from family after family living here and leaving.

Christine decided that old houses truly were the best.

Patricia came back with an old wooden crate, something probably used a good several decades ago for fruit. It was filled absolutely to the brim with notebooks of all sorts of shapes, sizes, and colours.

“You know what, Patricia? I will read and type up your diaries, and put them up for other people to see... you have a remarkable story and history and I’m so glad you’re trusting me with it,” Christine said, genuine, but slightly formal, like she was picking up on Patricia’s olden days style of formal and polite speech.

“I’m glad you’re interested... and I’m glad you’re helping me,” Patricia smiled.

“You might’ve been young when you died, but you speak with the wisdom of all the years you have been here,” Christine said, picking up an old, old stuffed doll, if one could even call it that. The yarn hair was musty and dusty, and thinned from the years, and the whole thing was rather smushed after having been under a whole stack of 60s style paintings.

Patricia gasped as Christine was in the middle of setting aside the doll.

“Susan!” She cried, rushing to the doll.

“This was yours?”

“Elizabeth made it for me when I was a baby... she was my doll for my whole life. I didn’t see her after I died, I think my mother must have put her away up here.”

“Do you think this may be your object?”

Patricia nodded. Her young face was full of emotion, full of wisdom and understanding of what was about to happen, of peace and utter readiness.

“Are you ready?” Christine asked, gently picking up the doll.

Patricia nodded again, and closed her eyes, taking a steady breath without breathing, since she was dead and all.

“Let other people read my writings.... keep Susan safe... okay?”

“I will keep your memory alive, Patricia,” Christine said solemnly. She’d only spoken to Patricia twice, and this whole thing had moved at a lightning quick pace... and yet she felt Patricia was an old friend, that she now had to say goodbye to.

Tears began to pool in Christine’s eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry, Christine,” Patricia said softly, cupping her cheek like she had done the first time they had spoken.

Christine nodded against her cool, softly glowing hand.

“Truthfully, Christine,” Patricia continued, “I care little about people remembering me... rather, I care about seeing my family once more.”

Christine nodded again.

“Do not forget me, though, yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Christine swore.

“I think I am ready.”

And Christine witnessed her first ghost being put to rest as she delicately handed Patricia the doll, and Patricia melted into it, an expression of absolute peace on her face as she slowly disappeared into it.

Christine set the doll on top of the crate of diaries and carried it downstairs to her room silently.

She opened up a random diary and flipped to halfway through.

*June 17th, 1963.

I love the colour purple. The new family, the Harrisons, they decorated the whole house in purple. One day, I want to grow purple wings and fly out into a purple sky and rest on the purple moon. I know that that’s never going to happen, even if I get put to rest- which would require someone being able to see me. But a ghost can dream!”

She looked out at the sky, and imagined it purple.

Christine knew that whatever world lied beyond, Patricia was there, in her purple wings on the purple moon.

__________

“I swear, Jeremy, I can see ghosts, for real.”

“I don’t believe it, and I can’t believe it... I think you must’ve boinked your head really hard,” he said, opening the door for her.

“I swear, Jeremy, it’s real!”

Inside the diner, their conversation stopped short and they stared at the scene.

A ghost, clothed in a red cloak and fluffy white dress, and a fancy wristwatch, had gotten hold of a spatula and was shrieking and flying around, sending menus and papers flying.

“Oh my god, it’s a ghost!” Christine cried.

“What? All I see is papers and menus flying around,” Jeremy said.

“It’s a ghost, in a red cloak and a white dress. Ghost! Ghost, I see you, please stop!”

And the menus stopped flying around, because the ghost stopped short and stared at her.

“You can see me?” She shrieked, voice more mature than Patricia’s but with that same echoing, distant, haunting lit.

“Yes... please, stop, you’re scaring them.”

“I’m trying to find my peace... I’ve waited here too long!” She looked down at her watch, and screamed again, flying around and scattering more menus, and a cup of coffee.

“What is your name?” Christine asked calmly, seemingly undisturbed by the mess.

“Margaret...”

“Why is your watch important? Do you care about keeping time because it moves so oddly for you?”

“The time! God, the time, the time, it goes and it goes, tick tock, tick tock! More and more years stuck here, forever stuck while my family lives!” Margaret shrieked.

Christine got the sense that Margaret was a little unhinged. She might’ve been unhinged from before she was a ghost - perhaps a traumatic accident? Or perhaps the traumatic accident had been her death, and the years of being a ghost were never for her, and she slowly went somewhat crazy.

The poor girl.

“When did you die, Margaret?”

“I died in 1976... I was shot in an armed robbery. I was just a customer, sitting at the counter, I was dressed as a maid in 1800s England... that’s all. I was just playing dress up with my younger sister.”

“Then... let’s try the cash register?”

The ghost relented and quietly floated down, and Christine ignored how Jeremy was shaking her by the shoulders.

“Try melting into the cash register.”

The cash register was old, antique, probably as old as the diner.

And when Margaret melted into it, she let out a shriek and disappeared.

And Christine knew she was gone.

Finally, she turned back to Jeremy, and realised that everyone in the diner was staring at her.

“It was a ghost... her name was Margaret, she died in 1976 after an armed robbery. She’s at peace now.”

And the owner and head cook, Trisha, nodded. She was a hundred or so years old, it seemed like.

“There was an armed robbery in 1976, and a girl named Margaret Adams died. I believe you.”

And Jeremy stared at her, mouth wide open.

“Maybe I’ll seat you, now,” a waitress said. Her name tag denoted her as Sally. “Thank you so much.”

The meal was really good, she Jeremy talked about normal things, avoiding the subject of ghosts, and Trisha insisted on giving Christine a steep discount on the food. She’d wanted to give her it on the house, but Christine refused.

And when they left the diner, Jeremy finally asked.

“So you really saw her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

“....I think I have to believe you now,” he admitted.

“I knew you’d come around,” Christine said softly, kissing him.

________________

After the date at the diner, Christine recounted the story in the cafeteria with big hand motions and a healthy sprinkle of embellishment, dazzling everyone at the table.

Thalia, in particular, didn’t quite look dazzled and amazed, simply... thoughtful.

“You almost died... surely that must have some connotations to how you can see ghosts now,” Thalia said thoughtfully.

“What do you mean? All I did was stop breathing for a second,” Christine said nonchalantly.

Everyone silently gave her a collective look.

“What?” Christine asked.

Thalia shook her head.

“Look... Christine... I... I can see ghosts too.”

“Really?!” Christine asked excitedly.

“Yeah... ever since... this... this thing happened, when I was ten. I put a ghost to rest that was... a friend of mine, when she was alive.”

Thalia spoke slowly, painfully, memories of a distant pain and trauma ebbing into her voice.

Later, when by chance they were alone, sitting by a half finished set piece, Thalia confided in Christine.

“I’ve never told anyone this... but I was ten, and I made my first friend. Her name was Mackenzie... and my dad, my ragingly homophobic father, found out that she had two mothers, and... he kidnapped her and... beat her and I in the basement, and...”

Christine looked at Thalia, soft and comforting.

“He shot her while I watched... he shot her without caring.”

And Christine was there, to comfort Thalia, as she cried behind a set piece.

“She was so young... I heard her die, Christine, I heard her die and I saw her eyes close!” Thalia sobbed, burying her head in Christine’s lap.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Christine comforted.

“I tried, Christine... I tried, but he’d tied us both up and he beat us both before that... he beat me so bad after and left me in the basement for three days, t-thought I was gonna die, Christine..”

“You’re safe. You’re safe, Thalia.”

Christine didn’t know, really, how to comfort Thalia. She didn’t have any experience in this kind of stuff. Jeremy had been abused by his mom, he knew better than Christine on this kind of stuff, and he was a closer friend to Thalia than Christine was to her.

But Thalia had confided in her, _her,_ of all people, and that made Christine feel kinda warm and fuzzy inside, in stark contrast to the very not at all warm and fuzzy things Thalia was telling her.

And Christine knew in her soul that the diner would not be the last time she saw a ghost. Everything felt just too much like it was lining up into place for something larger... something larger, involving ghosts.

_______________

Thalia took Christine to the town library a couple days later, to show her some books she’d found about ghosts.

The library, Thalia explained, was almost as old as the town itself, established in 1634, back when the town was called Bankfield. The town was established in 1630, and truly, the town’s biggest claim to fame in all it’s years was the two witch trials that had taken place in 1690 and 1692.

Thalia led Christine to the section with the ghost books, and herself wandered off to a different section.

Christine sat on the floor reading one particular book, old and musty and written in almost Shakespearean English, and read for a long time, hours, maybe.

She was deep into a chapter about ghosts going to peace by inhabiting objects important to them, when she felt a cool breeze.

Christine looked up to see a ghost, a woman in a blue dress, wide with hoops and petticoats, a strange style of dress, very old. Her eyes were striking, light blue and large, almost shimmering.

Her hair was braided and coiled into a tight bun at the back of her head, a simple white cloth bonnet covering it up almost completely.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Victoria Howe... and you, my dear darling, you are an Eye.”

Christine found herself trusting the ghost immediately. Her voice was soft and gentle, despite the echoing haunt all ghosts had in their voices. She knelt down to Christine’s level, a soft smile on her face.

“Victoria... I’m Christine.”

“Yes... you can see me in full, yes?”

“Your blue dress, and eyes, brown hair, white cap... yes, I believe I can.”

“An Eye, you are, then, my darling.”

“What is an Eye?”

“One who came close to death, either witnessing it or going there themselves, or nearly dying... the witnessing of almost transferring to the spirit world, as an onlooker or as yourself, gives... clarity, to some people. The ability to see the spirit world clearly.”

“I almost died in a car accident,” Christine said softly.

“And your friend, the one with child... is she your slave?”

“What? No, of course not... this is 2020, slavery hasn’t been a thing in hundreds of years, and besides she isn’t black... when did you die?”

“1692, my darling... I was burned at the stake holding a bible.”

“You were one of the witch trials of Bankfield?”

“Yes, it appears I was.”

“Well, it’s been more than three hundred years, and Thalia’s my friend.”

“She is an Eye too, yes?”

“Yeah... how can you tell.”

“Most humans appear simply as they are, to ghosts... but Eyes, they see both worlds as they are, so they have a glow around them only ghosts can see... a light blue aura, around her... a bright pink one around you. The colour changes depending on the soul.”

“What do the colours mean?”

“Your friend with the blue... she is almost utterly pure of soul. The closer to white, the purer the soul. And the purer the soul, the more clearly an Eye can see.”

“So why is she purer?”

“She has been an Eye longer... she has learnt the craft and established herself as a peaceful person to the spirit world, a peaceful bridge.”

Christine looked over her shoulder, almost expecting that Thalia was next to her, but she was not.

“How close is she?”

“I am not your guide, child. That is not my purpose.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“No matter, my darling. I do not care much about her anyway, she is... not one that I trust.”

“Why not?”

“She does not see me quite clearly... is all. But... you are here, you have presented as not a threat, as one who sees clearer than she, in some ways... perhaps you could help me.”

“You wish to be put to rest?”

“That is the goal of most ghosts... most do not find pleasure lingering in a world that has shunned them.”

“So how do I put you to rest? Where can I find your important object?”

“The way to put me to rest is not simple... I fear my object lies somewhere in these walls... or perhaps under the floor. You see, child, this library was built in 1693, and before that, it was the sight of my death. Before that, I had been at peace... the disturbance awoke my soul.”

“Oh, no,” Christine breathed.

“And sadly, the ghosts of those who persecuted me still haunt as well, and I could never be at peace until they are... taken care of.” Victoria flexed her wrist a bit as she spoke, and Christine started to feel... just a little bit cloudy upstairs. Probably just stress.

“Tell me how, then, Victoria, how do I put them to rest?”

“It is simple... I will show you the way. There are two of them, and their object is one that is shared.”

She led Christine to the fire extinguisher, hung on the wall.

“Any one of these objects shall do, my darling.”

“A fire extinguisher? Weren’t they killed before that could be an important object?”

“Ghosts are strange creatures, my child.”

“Where are they? In the library?”

“No. One still haunts the Old Hickory Tree. He hung himself there, knowing that the tree was there long before he, long before I, and would be long after. Very symbolic. And the second, she will haunt her gravesite. Her name is Adelaide Howe... no relation. I do not know where she is buried... merely that she is.”

“I understand.”

“When they are at peace, come to me, child.”

“I will.”

And with that, Victoria melted into the wall, falling into it right next to the fire extinguisher, but not actually passing through it.

“There you are!” Thalia whispered, hurrying towards her from behind.

Christine turned around to meet her. “I just met a ghost who haunts the building”, She said.

“That’s not a good thing... let’s check out our books,” Thalia said.

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

After checking out several volumes about ghosts, and a book about child development for Thalia, the girl turned to Christine in the car.

“The ghost who haunts the library is Victoria Howe... one of the two witch trials, the older one.”

“I know... she told me. She also told me some cool stuff about people who see ghosts, and auras and purity and stuff. Did you know we’re called Eyes?”

“I did. She is not as she seems, Christine. She is a trickster, out to make others pay for her death, those who had nothing to do with it.”

“She just wants some ghosts to go to peace so she can, too.”

“It’s a trap, Christine... she’s luring you into murdering for her.”

“I’m not touching anyone who’s alive.. and anyhow, how could someone murder a ghost?”

“Chemicals... wooden crosses. It’s all very complicated.”

“Why wooden crosses? Why not, like, buddhas?”

“Wooden crosses are a symbol of persecution to many, those who are Christian or otherwise. So, so many have used Christianity to back up horrible things.”

“What about the ghosts who haven’t even ever seen a cross?”

“The cross kills ghosts indiscriminately... it’s a symbolism thing that’s encoded into the very foundation of the institution of ghosts in the first place. I dunno. It’s weird in a lot of ways, but arguing with ghost rules isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“Neither is fighting with a pure soul do-gooder whatever.”

“You’re jealous that I’m purer of soul? It’s not really anything personal, it’s just that I’ve been an Eye for way longer and I’ve perfected the craft and met a lot of ghosts... you’ve been an Eye for a couple days.”

“Apparently you know all that there is to know about ghosts.”

“I never said that... that’s Victoria’s manipulation talking.”

“She didn’t even do anything! She just talked to me!”

“She’s a crafty one... a few words and a whisper of magic, and she gets people to do her bidding.”

“Seriously? So you’re saying she really is a witch?”

Thalia shook her head, a sad expression painted on her face. “No. I’m saying that you have much to learn, Christine.”

_____________

Christine didn’t let her odd feelings towards Thalia linger. Thalia did know more and had been doing this for longer... but damn, she wanted a cool blue aura!

At any rate, she let Thalia teach her, but despite her warnings, she did go to the Old Hickory Tree.

It was on school property, in the courtyard area where outdoor lunch was held, off to the side and to the back of the area.

Christine went over there one day when Thalia wasn’t in school because she thought she was going into labour, and sat next to the tree.

“I am here,” she breathed.

And there appeared a ghost.

He was tall and lanky, dressed in a simple red nightshirt. He had cool toned brown skin, striking brown eyes, and definitely a lot of muscle mass. His brown hair was short cropped and natural.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello, and you are an Eye?”

“Of course... What is your name?” Christine asked.

“My name is Marcus... have you come to put me to rest?”

“Yes, if that is what you want.”

“Oh, I have been waiting for this for so long, I am just waiting to see my family again. My wife, Toccara, perhaps even my children... though perhaps they may not be dead yet.”

“Time moves strangely for ghosts,” Christine said calmly.

Marcus nodded. “Indeed it was. So, have you brought my book?”

“Book? No, not a book... something another ghost told me would do the trick.”

Christine had gone to Victoria again, without Thalia, and she had advised Christine to whip the fire extinguisher out and blast the ghost quickly with it, three times fast.

Christine pulled it out of her backpack and quickly fired it at him, surprised that she had been able to work the complicated controls the first time.

Other kids, assuming that there was a fire, began screaming.

But nobody screamed as loudly as Marcus, who looked stunned and terrified.

Christine did not halt, though, she blasted three times, fast, and Marcus fell to his knees, loosing his milky white glow and gaining a dark, shadowy glow, eerie and odd.

And he began to fade away.

“Victoria has done this,” he cried, his voice sad and tragic.

“Victoria told me that you persecuted her, that she could not rest until you rested.”

Marcus looked at her as if she was young and naive. “She has used her powers on you, child, and tricked you. Chemicals like this kill ghosts but do not put them to rest... you will have to burn the chemical ash before I am fully at rest. And Victoria... she died in 1692? I died in 1975. Child, I was born in the fifties... the nineteen fifties. Victoria merely has a vendetta... she wants to be seen as superior because she has perfected the forbidden magic.”

“You lie!” Christine yelled.

Marcus shook his head. “She has bewitched you, child... I only hope you see the light before it is too late and burn the ashes... before you end up like Adelaide.”

And with that, the last of Marcus faded away.

Christine, shocked, dropped the fire extinguisher-

And was quickly grabbed by a teacher.

“You’re coming with me... to the nurse, and then to detention.”

__________

The faculty, apparently, were convinced that Christine was a little bit out of her mind, talking to nobody and spraying a fire extinguisher on a tree that was not only not on fire, but was hundreds of years old and very near and dear to the people of Red Bank.

And the excuse that she was putting to rest a ghost and “It’s just a tree!” Did not do her any favours.

So her temperature was taken and then she was nailed with three days of detention, which she managed to convince them to assign on days without rehearsal.

Small victories.

The next day, Thalia was back in school. She’d gone to the hospital, but they had pronounced it Braxton Hicks contractions and sent her home.

She was complaining of hurting feet and boobs at lunch, half sprawled out on the table.

“Did you hear what Christine did, Lia?” Brooke asked.

“What did Christine do?” Thalia asked, sending Christine a Look from her position, disgruntled, in pain, her head resting on the tabletop.

“Got nailed with three days of detention,” Jenna supplied.

“Oh?”

“I... I put to rest a ghost,” Christine said softly.

“And tell her, Christine, how you did that?” Jeremy asked playfully.

“Fuck you... I sprayed him with a fire extinguisher, next to Old Hickory.”

Thalia sat straight up.

“Christine Amanda Canigula!”

“My middle name is Cassandra.”

“Christine Cassandra Canigula! You fucking killed a ghost?”

“I didn’t kill it... he persecuted Victoria and lied as he went to peace!”

“No, honey, he died. Did he loose his white glow and gain a shadowy glow and then fade away?”

“Yeah?”

Thalia threw her hands up in exasperation. “Christine! You killed a ghost! Please tell me you saved the chemical ashes.”

“No?”

“Jeremy, did it rain last night?” Thalia asked.

“No, it didn’t... it was clear out,” Jeremy said.

Thalia got up on her feet, grabbed Christine’s hand, and led her out into the yard.

They went to the tree, where a neat pile of white chemical ashes sat, almost primly.

Thalia pulled a ziplock bag of pencils out of her backpack, dumped out the pencils back into it, and collected the ashes into the bag, and handed it to Christine, before thinking twice and snatching it back.

“We’ll burn that so he can actually go to peace. Fire extinguishers have chemicals that kill ghosts, genius.”

“Are you kidding me? Thalia, he’s at rest now.”

“God, I would slap you if I didn’t know it was her magic... soon as I pop out this fucking baby I’m going to figure out how to break the spell, I tell you, girl,” Thalia griped, exasperated.

For a moment, Christine felt like she was standing beside herself, watching herself.

And she was horrified.

But something else... something... foreign... it told her to ignore it.

She faded back into her body and buried the feeling.

______________

The next day, Christine went to Victoria again, and Victoria allowed Christine to sit with her in the children’s section, in a green bean bag chair with a cartoon face on it, and vent to her about how _annoying_ Thalia was being.

“Even those who see clearer perhaps do not see perfectly... I believe your vision better than hers,” Victoria said, stroking Christine’s hair, despite her hand going through it.

“I just don’t understand her! Like she says she wants to help, but then she acts all... bitchy. Maybe it’s the whole being pregnant thing... I sure wouldn’t want to be in that position.”

“Perhaps... or perhaps it is a deeper sentiment, a deeper attachment and bias,” Victoria said softly.

“Yea-“ Christine began, but then stopped short.

The light from a window had reflected off of Victoria’s wrist on the hand that was attempting to stroke her hair, and it reflected off a watch with a blue face.

Exactly like the watch that Margaret, the ghost in the diner, had been wearing.

“Is that yours?” Christine asked softly.

Victoria sat up rigidly, and began speaking softly and in a voice almost... seductive.

Not in a sexy seductive way... just... Christine’s head was becoming too cloudy to even think properly on the metaphor.

“My dear child... my darling Christine... it is merely a trinket the dear Margaret Beecher bestowed upon me.”

“Margaret went to rest... how did you steal it from her?”

“I didn’t steal anything, child.”

“You... you’re just good at acquiring things that aren’t yours, I guess,” Christine said softly. The words started sounding ludicrous as soon as they left her mouth, and her head was cloudy, and the air was cold.

“Or perhaps it is that Thalia girl, meddling in your head again. She is clouding your focus,” Victoria mused, snapping her wrist at attention suddenly, oddly.

And all at once, the cloudiness disappeared from Christine’s head.

“Of course, it must be.”

_______________

In the days after, Christine put on a fake kindness towards Thalia, as the girl was obviously struggling through the last few days of pregnancy and not enjoying it at all.

It was just the pregnancy.

But god, did she have to _whine_ so much? It was her own fault she was in this position.

But finally, she went into labour, and throughout lunch that day, she was clutching the table and gasping every several minutes.

Everyone at the table was urging her to go to the hospital, everyone offering to drive her.

Everyone but Christine, who thought this was stupid. Thalia was in labour, she already should’ve gotten her butt to the hospital.

She didn’t deserve their kindness.

But Christine comforted Thalia through a contraction, though it was false, and thankfully Thalia was too much in pain to realise it.

Or maybe she was just that stupid.

Jeremy finally made Thalia relent and agree to go to the hospital, and he and Michael helped her to her feet and out the door.

And Christine felt... jealous. Jeremy and Thalia were very close, they related to each other because they were both abused by their parents, but geez, that really was not a good foundation to a friendship.

Jeremy and Thalia were super, super close. They cuddled, they hugged, they told each other everything. And yeah, Jeremy acted like he would rather die than be romantically attracted to her, and Thalia had almost gotten killed when she was outed to her ragingly homophobic father as a lesbian- which by the way was a pretty lame story, Jeremy had gotten burned with a spoon at age 7.

Of course, the whole father murdering her best friend and only friend right in front of her was pretty baller too. She admired Thalia, she was courageous and strong and brave and resilient.

Why was she so jealous?

Why was her head so goddamn cloudy?

Why did she think one thing one minute and another the next, and why was she so... so confused about the whole thing?

She came to the hospital while Thalia was deep into labour, watched Jeremy hold her, and felt proud of her boyfriend for being such a great friend and yet jealous, proud and in awe of how strong Thalia was and yet so, so fucking confused.

Thalia gave birth to an utterly adorable little girl, and named her Olive. She let Christine hold her.

Christine had been talking a lot with dead people lately... but holding a newborn, a new, tiny little life... that cleared her head, gave her a bit of perspective and vision in the cloudiness that came and went as it so pleased.

Olive was small, so small and light and delicate, fingers just barely there, curling over the edge of the soft blanket she was swaddled in.

She had small, angular eyes, a shape almost like Christine’s eyes, but they were bright blue. The boy who Thalia had had her with, this jock Trent Selwater, had brown eyes, and she’d seen his parents, both brown eyed. And the eye shape was explained in that Thalia was half Japanese and half Filipino... so Olive was half white, and a quarter Japanese and a quarter Filipino, which was actually pretty cool.

So she had no idea how that had come to be.

The baby’s skin was lighter than Thalia’s medium brown, but not exactly white, either. At any rate, her skin was baby smooth and flawless, which made sense... cause she was just a baby.

Delicate, tiny tiny brown curls framed the baby’s delicate, tiny face, obscured from view somewhat by the pink blanket she was swaddled in.

All in all... she was absolutely drop dead gorgeous. She was a little tiny baby, Olive, and she was incredible. So surreal... so peaceful... there was nothing bad in her tiny little soul.

It really put things into perspective.

She hugged Thalia, apologised for how she’d been acting, and left the hospital feeling like a good- no, a much, much better friend, and a lot more at peace.

Christine felt a lot better about herself and her life after holding a baby, and yet didn’t see any issue in her relationship with Victoria.

So she went back and visited the ghost again, and told her about Olive and how beautiful she was.

Victoria flexed her wrist a lot, and Christine stayed clearheaded and focused... and truly happy.

Yet Victoria seemed oddly frustrated, somewhat annoyed.

“Child, you confide in me often, and yet Adelaide is not yet at rest. Why is that?”

“Oh, sorry,” Christine said. “I genuinely forgot... I’m a student and I have a ton of homework, and I’m in the school musical, I play Eponine, and also I’ve been helping Thalia out with her baby...”

“Nonsense. These are worthless, wooden, empty excuses. You disappoint me, Christine... I thought perhaps I could trust you?”

Victoria flexed her wrist again and looked away, truly looking disappointed in her.

And Christine’s head became cloudy, and she sighed softly. Why had she been raving so much about the baby? It was just a baby.

“I’m so sorry, Victoria... I’ll put her to rest as soon as I possibly can.”

Victoria nodded. “You are young, full of life... you understand not the hundreds of years I have lived in these walls, waiting for you... or someone, at least, who could put me to rest... I wish not to have to wait another four generations for someone with even a sliver of promise, much less an Eye who dares even defy how everyone else feels and trust me so completely.

“I am so sorry, Victoria,” Christine said, feeling about ready to cry from embarrassment, and how fucking _stupid_ she was. Here she was enjoying life, and Victoria simply wanted to leave the world that had shunned her so long ago.

“That girl, Thalia... she is just like the whole lot of them. Untrustworthy, horrid, an impure soul despite how well she can talk to and see ghosts.. she is biased against me because everyone has always been biased against me... I tire of your talk of her. I tire of you putting up with her.”

Christine swore not to sit with Thalia at lunch again, nor to help her with Olive again.

Even if Olive was a really, really cute baby.

___________

In order to make it not too suspicious that she didn’t want to eat with Thalia anymore, once Thalia arrived back at school Christine began studying her lines nonstop in the library at lunch, and then studying Thalia’s.

Just in case Fantine could not be at the show and someone had to step in at the last second.

And finally, two days after Thalia came back to school, Christine went out to Trinity Cemetery.

It was where a lot of the founding citizens of Red Bank, or Bankfield as it had been back then, were buried. It was on a hill in a small patch of lush green woods on the outskirts of town.

And it was also where Adelaide Howe was buried.

Her tombstone read, simply;

_Adelaide Diamond Howe*_

_A true mother, a true daughter, a true pure soul._

_1665-1699._

And right next to her, rested another Howe.

_Victoria Howe_

_Convicted of witchcraft, but perhaps was innocent all along and was pure of heart as her sister, A. Loved by her family. Dedicated on 31 Apr, 1922._

_b. circa 1671, died 1632_

And Christine went back to the library without talking to Adeliade, or even seeing her, but avoided Victoria inside the library and instead checked out a book on the history of Bankfield.

The fact that the title referred to the town as Bankfield told how old it was. It was published in the 20s, and it had that glorious old book smell.

Somehow, she avoided Victoria well enough to check out the book and take it home.

She read the whole thing, cover to cover, that night, ignoring her homework. Christine read of the town’s founding, of how it grew in the later half of the seventeenth century, and there was even a chapter devoted to the two witch trials.

One passage was particularly intriguing. Or perhaps the word was... enlightening.

_The first witch trial Bankfield ever saw was in 1692, the trial of Victoria Amelia Howe. Younger sister to Adelaide Howe, a prominent female figure and voice in the town’s early history. She married Oliver Banks, the son of the town’s founder, Harold Banks. Oliver and Adelaide had three children, Adelaide, Harold, and Mimsie, probably short for Marie. They had up to eight other possible children, whose names are lost to history. These children did not survive their childhood._

_Victoria was considered the town spinster, despite being only twenty four or so at the time of her trial. She was young and beautiful, but had not had as much luck as her sister Adelaide in finding a match, much to the chagrin of their parents, Robert and Elizabeth Amelia Howe._

_The parents had seven other children known to us. Edward, Thomas, Regina, Adelaide, Maria, Cecelia, Robert Jr, Andrew, and then the youngest, Victoria._

_Victoria’s parents diligently yet unsuccessfully attempted to arrange her to marry Richard Teller, a distant cousin of the mayor at the time, Harry Turner. Richard was twenty years Victoria’s senior, and she was openly disgusted with him and his offhand, disrespectful attitude in regards to his deceased wife, Adela Teller, and the children he had with her, of which we only know of 2, Edward Teller and Heidi Teller._

_She refused his hand in marriage, and in an act of revenge, Richard’s grown daughter, Evangeline, is believed to have began spreading rumours that Victoria was a witch, determined to stay a virgin to keep her magic pure. Evangeline was burned badly after falling into a bonfire, and she blamed this incident on Victoria._

_Another theory of the source of the allegations is that Victoria’s sister, Adelaide, tired of the disgrace her younger sister was bringing to her otherwise peaceful and happy life, confided in her best friend, Grace Todd, the daughter of Harry Turner, via his first wife, Elizabeth Todd._

_Grace, in turn, a good friend also to Evangeline and her other sisters, Mary and Margarita, told them of Adelaide’s woes, and the sisters spread rumours. Whatever happened, Evangeline Teller was probably the one who truly began raising allegations that Victoria was a witchcraft user._

_The rumours spread and Victoria was arrested and subjected to a public trial, where she was convicted of witchcraft. Three days later, she was burned at the stake in the town square. Evangeline, still recovering from her injuries, attended, remarking afterwards, “That horrid old hag, that witch, she is no longer! And good riddance to the poor vessel of a body that supported such a disgusted soul._

_Victoria died clutching a bible to her chest, and it is unknown who gave it to her. Some speculate that Evangeline, perhaps mockingly or in a moment of pity, gave her the bible, but others believe it was Adelaide, as eyewitness testimony suggests that the two sisters managed to exchange words briefly, and Victoria swatted Adelaide with the bible, who merely shook her head at her younger sister and retreated._

Christine took the book straight to Victoria.

Victoria looked almost like she might cry, flicking her wrists and wringing her hands, distraught.

“Lies. Lies, I tell you! Do you not see, they are all out for me, to desecrate even my own memory! I am remembered as nothing more than a history fact, as a horrid spinster witch. You still do not end Adelaide, who is *not* my sister!”

“Why is it that Adelaide is buried next to you, then?”

“That horrible wench wanted to make it seem like she pitied me.”

“Why don’t you want me to put Evangeline to rest? Adelaide seems like a nice person.”

“Evangeline, that horrible, horrible woman, the splitting image of a she devil, she never became a ghost. No, that horrid woman went straight to heaven or whatever may lay beyond... let us hope that it was the fiery pits of hell.”

“Why are you so dead set on Adelaide? You haven’t even told me why you hated her so much.”

Victoria laughed, cold and distant.

“So you do not trust me.... alas, I shall have to wait more centuries, it does seem.”

And Christine’s head became cloudy.

And Christine apologised for being so awful, and swore to finally do away with Adelaide.

So indeed, she approached her gravesite the very same day, and tapped lightly, gently on the headstone.

“Adelaide? Adelaide, are you there?” Christine asked gently.

A ghost, a woman with striking dark brown curls, a wide red dress, and a motherly look about her, rose, looking happy to see a human, an Eye, no less.

But Christine, though her head was so thick and cloudy it was difficult to think, did not waste time on conversation.

The fire extinguisher, she whipped out, and blasted Adelaide once, twice.

But before she could deliver the third, fatal blast, she heard a voice call out to her.

“Stop! Christine, stop, don’t you dare do this again!”

It was Thalia, running towards her from the bottom of the hill the cemetery rested on.

But it was too little, too late.

She blasted Adelaide once more, and the ghost shrieked, and so did Christine when Thalia ripped the fire extinguisher from her hands.

Thalia knelt by Adelaide’s side and whispered a few words Christine could not make out, nor understand even if she had.

And somehow, the fading halted and reversed, giving Adelaide back her milky glow.

“She is merely under the spell,” Thalia murmured to Adelaide.

Christine opened her mouth to retort, but a kind, soft look from Adelaide somehow silenced it.

Thalia pulled an old, old bible, seemingly scorched, but scorched a long time ago, out of her backpack.

She handed it to Adelaide, who smiled at her and faded into it, truly going to rest.

“Oh, Christine,” Thalia said quietly, once Adelaide was gone.

Christine didn’t look at her or say anything, filled with the overwhelming feeling that she had almost done something so, so horrible.

Thalia dug a small hole next to Adelaide’s grave with just her hands, set the bible down in it, sprinkled a packet of flower seeds over it, and covered it back up with the soil.

“Come here, Christine... we will break the spell somehow.”

Christine basically crawled into Thalia’s arms, and it was her turn to just cry and cry and cry.

She had almost done something horrible... she knew this.

But how it was horrible, why she had done it... that was beyond her.

___________

Christine didn’t go to the library again for awhile after that, even if she thought Victoria would be sad because of it. Victoria could finally be put to rest, it seemed.

But something in her (and Thalia) told her that Victoria’s wishes for those people to be at rest were not at all founded in kindness or even true, warranted hatred from persecution long ago.

Jeremy comforted the heavily confused Christine one night, and he held her just as Thalia had, only they were on his bed and they were laid out together.

“I love you.... I don’t think I say that enough,” Christine said quietly, sadness twinged in her voice.

Jeremy stroked her hair. “I know you do... you’re okay.”

“I feel so fucking _wrong,_ Jeremy... so confused and dirty and horrible.”

“Something happened to you... I don’t know what it was, but something happened.”

“Maybe just the stress of suddenly being able to see ghosts and stuff... and the musical and all.”

“I dunno... maybe aliens were involved,” Jeremy said conspiratorially.

Christine rolled her eyes, smiling, as she nestled her head against Jeremy’s head. “So what did the aliens do to me?”

“Well, I don’t know... I think maybe they could’ve kidnapped you, wiped your memories, and reprogrammed you to do their bidding, and the only way for you to get free is to enter your memories into their database. I can probably find your USB port in your scalp somewhere,” Jeremy joked, smoothing Christine’s hair.

Christine was quiet for a few minutes, and she spoke quietly and softly when she felt ready to, afraid Jeremy had fallen asleep or something.

“Jeremy?”

“Yeah?”

“One day... one day if we’re still together when we’re out of high school and college.... we should have a baby.”

“Yeah... I love babies,” Jeremy said softly, a soft happiness in his voice.

“You love Olive... and so do I. She’s beautiful,” Christine breathed.

“I want an Olive of my own.”

“So do I... probably won’t name the kid Olive, though.”

“Olive Lorelai Jr,” Jeremy suggested.

“Nah... I kinda like the name Mary, and Mallory.”

“Those are pretty.”

“But I guess we should cross that bridge if we come to it...”

“No... _when_ we come to it,” Jeremy said, barely above a whisper.

Christine nestled ever closer to him.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

_________________

Christine avoided the library, opting to put her books in the return box outside after hours, rather than dare go inside.

And one day, she went to Jeremy’s house, needing to just... spill some tea with him, about the whole thing, about how fucking _wrong_ she felt.

Jeremy’s dad, Todd, answered the door.

“Who are you?”

“Very funny... Jeremy’s here, right?”

Mr. Heere looked confused.

“Who’s Jeremy?”

**Author's Note:**

> moi tumblr is @nbchristinecanigula, the bmq tumblr is @bmc-gift-exchange


End file.
